


What Christmas Means to Me

by becomingshades



Series: Fireproof [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Drabbles, F/M, Family, Fluff, Holidays, Love, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becomingshades/pseuds/becomingshades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from seven Christmases in the life of Harry Styles.</p><p>(<em>a story about memory, family, and the holidays that mark us forever.</em>)</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>part of the things to ruin universe</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Christmas (2013)

* * *

 

"Hey, Hell," he murmured fondly, watching as Hellie burrowed into a pile of cushions on her bed. "God. You look beautiful. I miss you so much."

"Miss you, too," she replied, finally settled and smiling a bit sadly,  "Sorry to be such a complete failure of a girlfriend and I'm still all the way over here when you're all the way over there."

"Hey now, be nice! Thats  _my_  complete failure of a girlfriend you're talking about. And I kind of like her."

"Kind of?"

"Yeah. I mean. I've got some reservations," he teased. "She wouldn't bail on her family and come to England for Christmas, as an example. Must mean she doesn't actually care about me very much even though we've been dating for like, three full months."

"Harry, stop!" Hellie groaned, half at the edge of a laugh.

"Hell, it's Christmas. You should be with your family. Especially with your sister-in-law pregnant, it's the last Christmas like this for you guys, I understand that. Can you  _please_  stop feeling bad? It's making me batty."

"I didn't even know you Brits used 'batty.' Shouldn't you have said 'barmy' or something?"

"You really are incredibly adept at changing the subject when I get too close to your feelings."

"One of my finer traits, really. My exes have all loved it. Things never got serious, and then,  _BONUS_ , it was super easy to leave me."

"Hell, are you okay?"

He knew the answer to that question, of course. The answer was no. The answer was no and there was nothing he could do about it and he'd probably never missed anyone this much, or felt so far away from where he was meant to be and it made him want to punch something. In the silence that hung in the pixels between them, he took a very quiet, very slow, very deep breath. Losing his cool would not help Hellie. Besides, it was Christmas. Things shouldn't be this maudlin. He wouldn't let them be maudlin.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I have no idea what's going on, I'm just... I just..." Hellie finally replied, stuttering slowly to silence.

"You miss me," he singsonged at her, dragging out the words until he could see a small smile pulling upward at one corner of her mouth.

"Maybe a little."

"A little, Hellie McGovern? You know you're a rubbish liar, yeah?"

"I am an excellent liar, Styles," she insisted. He scoffed and in return she smiled for real. "Just you know. Not with you."

"I love that about you, Hell," he replied, watching her eyes flutter down to her lap. "So. How was Santa?"

"Ridiculous as ever. My parents keep saying he's going to cut back, so he can 'take care of some new children' or some shit like that, and every year they fail," Hellie snorted, "Maybe next year they'll finally get it right. They'll have a grandbaby to spoil, after all. Was Santa good to you, H?"

"The best, per usual. I got so many pairs of new socks I hardly know what to do with myself." Hellie giggled. "Hey! Socks are at a premium on tour, I'll have you know."

"I know, H. Every time I see you you steal at least one pair of my socks. I assumed it was a strategy you'd developed out there in the trenches."

"Huh. No wonder I have so many random floral socks in my case."

"Please, you buy the floral socks and you know it."

"I will never cop to that."

"You don't need to, I know all your dirty little secrets, Styles."

"And yet, you love me anyway," he teased, only hearing the words, really, after he'd said them. After Hellie had stiffened up a hundred zillion million miles too far away for him to touch.

"You're feeling pretty confident, aren't you, Haz? How can you be sure I'm not in this for your fame or obscene financial security? How can you be sure I won't up and leave five minutes after I've finally convinced you to fill a jacuzzi with cash and let me Scrooge McDuck straight through it?"

For once, he was pretty glad for Hellie's ability to dodge uncomfortable conversations. Because he didn't want to push her-- no matter what he thought he knew about her feelings. No matter what he _knew_  he knew about his own. And because it was Christmas, and they certainly didn't need to be arguing. That maudlin moment just before had been enough weird/shitty stuff for one holiday Facetime.

"Guess I'll just have to be sure that I never let you Scrooge McDuck in my money. Then I'll get to keep you."

"You already get to keep me, Harry," Hellie whispered, softly, reaching out to touch the screen of her iPad.

"Good. Because now that you've given me this idea, I'm sort of fond of it. I've got to have enough money to make this happen for us," he contemplated, smiling when he heard Hellie's laughter.

"I adore you," she said, offering no segue. He cheesed at her in reply, before getting caught up in a deep yawn. "It's late over there, sure you don't want to go to bed? We can talk tomorrow."

"Not ready to let you go yet," he frowned. Sure. He was genuinely knackered and in need of sleep. But he also wasn't anywhere near ready to stop seeing Hellie's face, or hearing her breathe.

"You know I'll stay."

"Can you watch a film with me until I fall asleep?"

"Sure. Let me get my laptop," she replied, returning moments later to ask, "What'll it be?"

"Only the best Christmas film of all time."

"Do I even want to know?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Love Actually, of course."

Hellie scoffed. "As if. That is so far from the best Christmas movie of all time I don't even know where to begin, Styles."

"Are you telling me you don't like Love Actually?"

"Kiss my ass, you. I saw that shit in the movie theater, H. Back when you were still teething."

"I was  _nine_ , Hell."

"Whatever. You were a baby. I was nearly twenty."

"Oh yeah, you were just ancient," he rolled his eyes. "You weren't even old enough to drink."

"Yeah, well, you STILL aren't--"

"For the sake of argument, Hell," he cut her off, "what are you going to attempt to claim is the greatest Christmas film of all time?"

"Holiday Inn, of course," she replied as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. As though he'd ever seen this film. "The first ever appearance of the song 'White Christmas' was in that movie. Plus, it stars Bing Crosby  _and_  Fred Astaire."

"Wow. Maybe you  _are_  ancient."

"You wound me." She laughed, clutching at her chest just over her heart.

"Watch Love Actually with me?" he asked hopefully.

"I suppose. So long as you promise to watch Holiday Inn with me when you're back in New York."

"Anything for you, Hell," he replied sincerely, "Now shut it and queue up the film."

"Merry Christmas to you too, you dicknose."

"That's  _your_  dicknose, Hell. Yours."

  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December, team! The holidays are upon us. And, as such, I wanted to do a little something festive for Harry and Hellie. And for you, too, of course. So, here we are.
> 
>  _What Christmas Means to Me_ actually serves a dual purpose, if you can believe it. Firstly, you get some Christmasy drabbles with Harry, Hellie and the twins. And second... well, I guess I'll tell you more about the second part after this story is done. ;) But. Rest assured, this is meant to be a bit of a treat/tease for you.
> 
> I should be posting every other day or so, so keep those eyes of yours peeled in the lead up to Christmas. And give me a shout. Either here, or over on tumblr at twooldfourthis. You know I love hearing from you!


	2. Second Christmas (2014)

* * *

 

"Harry," Hellie whined from her position on the couch.

"Hellie," he whined back.

"Don't tease me, Harry. I'm so enormous I'm stuck in my own couch and I need to pee."

"Need help?" he asked a bit redundantly, already on his way out of the kitchen, where he'd been fishing through the fridge and thinking of dinner.

Hellie didn't reply, per-say. Mostly she just scowled resentfully as he offered his hands and hauled her up out of the deepest corner of the couch. It crossed his mind -- for a second, really, only just a tiny second -- to suggest that maybe Hellie shouldn't keep choosing the deepest, squishiest, furthest-from-an-armrest spot to sit in, given that she was struggling to maneuver so much at this point. But then he thought better of it. Remembered how poorly Hellie responded to logic when she felt like this -- fat and immobile and stuck in a foreign body. He had no idea what it was like to carry twins. All he could do was try and make it better.

Ten minutes later, when he'd just given in and called up the Seamless app on his iPad, but Hellie still hadn't returned from the loo, he started to get nervous. Hellie'd been in a bit of a mood all day, tetchy and permanently on the edge of some kind of a meltdown, and though he couldn't tell if it was going to be shouting or tears (or both) he could sense it coming nearer.

"Hell?" he called as he moved into the hall and toward the bathroom, stopping to press his ear against the door. "You alright in there, darling?"

He heard a huge sniffle. And some weird shuffling, but otherwise received no reply.

"Hellie?"

A beat. Another, much bigger, much wetter, much grosser snuffle.

"Hell, I'm coming in."

"Harry!" she half-wailed, from her awkward position on the shower mat, another tear slipping over her cheek. "Get out!"

"Nope. Not without you."

"Please, Harry. Please leave me alone."

"Hellie. You're crying on the bathroom floor three days before Christmas, I'm not... I can't just leave you in here like this. Please, sweetheart, tell me what's wrong."

"I just need a minute, okay?!"

"You've been in here ten minutes, easily."

"Maybe I had to pee a lot."

"Hell, you treat taking a wee like it's an Olympic sprint. There's no way you'd let yourself pee for that long."

"I COULD!" she insisted, petulantly.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "So you were taking a wee on the carpet?"

"God, this is a disgusting conversation," Hellie replied, dodging the question. Classic.

"No more or less disgusting than the time that you told me about how you're pretty sure you're going to poop right there on the table after you give birth to our children, I'd say. And we're both about to spend a calculable percentage of our time covered in baby sick and poop and god knows what else. Plus, I just watched a YouTube video about delivering the placenta-- It's going to take a lot more than some bathroom talk to gross me out now, darling, so please. Just. Tell me what's wrong. Are you feeling poorly?"

"No," she huffed, crossing her arms awkwardly over her ever-growing rack, which was perched higher than ever -- seriously, her best push-up bras could never compete -- on her ever-expanding bump, which could very nearly qualify for state-hood of it's own at this point. Not that he'd ever say that out loud.

"Okay, then... what's wrong? What's... Are you hungry? Sore? What can I do?" For a minute, or twelve, there was a stare-off between them. "Seriously, Hell, I'm... Please, just tell me what I can do, I hate seeing you like this."

"Well, I hate feeling like this!"

"Like what, sweetheart?"

"Stop it with the sweetheart! My god, look at me, I'm a monster. I'm fucking enormous, I can't like... I can't even put my own socks on in the morning anymore, Harry! When you're gone, I just leave the same socks on for days in a row, sleep in them and all. And you know how much I hate sleeping in socks! And I just... I just... I feel so stuck, Harry. In everything, all the time! They're always kicking and I have to pee so much but it's hard to get on and off the toilet and I just dropped my ring behind the commode and I can't even, there's literally no way I can even get back there to get it for myself, because I tried -- I TRIED -- and I HATE THIS!"

Okay. So. Hellie was even more tetchy about her bump than he'd realized today. Which he really, really hated. Because there was nothing on this earth he could do to help her. And because he thought her body -- and the way it had changed -- was beautiful. And maybe, too, because some small part of him loved this so much he didn't want to rush it, didn't want to see it end. Which was selfish, he knew. He was not the one carrying these children. But god, he was loving every minute of this that he was getting to experience and there hadn't been nearly enough of those minutes and they were in the home-stretch now. Due in less than eight weeks. Which... with twins... Hellie would never make it that long. She could pop at any moment, really. Which was exactly why he'd never been gladder to be home for the holidays. Like, ever.

But god. He needed to swallow all of his shit and just get Hellie off the floor and out of the loo. Do whatever it was she needed to get through this moment and on top a better one. Today, and tomorrow and for the next eight weeks, and honestly, probably forever. Because he loved her.

He took a deep breath and bit down on sad, but fond, smile, sitting down on the edge of the tub near her before speaking.

"Okay, Hell. I'm... Can you let me help you up, please? We'll go outside and get you a glass of water or wine or whatever you want, and while you enjoy that I'll come back and get the ring, okay? You won't even have to see me be flexible."

Despite herself, Hellie snuffled out a soft laugh. It took a few moments more, moments in which he could see her biting down on a very small smile of her own, before she gave in and held her hands up for a lift. In the kitchen she let him make her a mug of peppermint hot chocolate with a mountain of marshmallows  _and_  whipped cream, before he returned to the bathroom to find her ring in a very dark corner where it was annoyingly difficult even for him to reach it.

"Here, darling," he said, holding the ring out in the palm of his hand and waiting for Hellie to stop staring glumly into her cocoa. "You're killing me, Hell. Breaking my heart. It's nearly Christmas, the babies are nearly here, I want... I want to enjoy this with you. I want to know what to do to help you."

Quietly, as he waited for Hellie to answer, he took her hand into his and slipped the ring back or, following his fingers with a soft press of his lips. Only then did she look over at him, releasing her lower lip from between her teeth and tilting her head up with her lips pursed like an invitation. He didn't hesitate to take her up on the offer.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his mouth between kisses.

"Don't be."

"I don't want to feel this way, I don't want you to worry about me, I..."

"Hey, hey, easy now darling. Let's just..." he paused, casting about for something, anything, to distract them. To change the subject, everything clicking into place when his eyes landed on the iPod dock in the counter. "Shake it off. Let's shake it off."

"Did you just make an allusion to your ex-girlfriend?" she asked, glancing at him with a skeptical grin.

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Someone's feeling brave," she teased as he slipped around behind her, scrolling quickly through her iPod.

"Nah," he grinned, plopping his iPhone into the dock and reaching a hand out for Hellie just as the scratchy sound of an old record filled the room. "Someone's feeling  _festive_ , though."

As the scratchy record sound faded behind a bouncy piano refrain, Hellie scrunched her face up into a deeply adorable grin and he knew he had her. Because he knew, that she knew that intro immediately. That you could play it for her anytime, anywhere, and she'd have the same reaction.

"Harry!" she shouted again, this time gleeful, as Taylor Hanson's voice rang out across the apartment.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he joked, reaching out for her as Hanson's Christmas album played on. "Dance with me, Hell."

Taking both of his girlfriend's hands in his, he pulled them to the center of the living room. There wasn't much room, even after he pushed the trunk up against the couch with his foot, especially with the tree jutting into the floorspace. But he didn't care. They'd make do.

Hellie warmed up slowly, smiling big and allowing him to pull her arms around as he rotated his torso side to side and made silly faces. But by the time they were halfway through "What Christmas Means to Me," Hellie was laughing and shout-singing along sort of badly and grooving as much as she possibly could, given her gorgeously, beautifully, enormously pregnant state.

Four songs in something slow and original -- a song he didn't know -- started playing and Hellie let him pull their bodies together, tilting her face down until her forehead rested against his clavicle. He pulled one of her hands up to his chest and pressed it against his heart and felt the other fist in his shirt as he rubbed tender circles on her back.

"I love you, you know," he murmured, his nose in her hair, lips near her ear. "All the time, all the ways, every version of you, I just... love you. Loads and loads. Foolish amounts, really."

"Ugh, you fucking sap," she teased, pulling back and laughing as she wiped at a tear with one hand and gave him a shove with the other.

"Hey!" he protested, flopping to the floor dramatically.

"I thought the point of all this was to distract me from the tears, love, not send me on a whole new crying jag!"

"The point was to get you to stop hating your body for five seconds and just have some fun. The point was it's Christmas time and I hate seeing you upset!"

"Then don't make me cry again!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air, but laughing again as another tear slipped over her cheek.

"Promise I won't tell you how much I love you ever again," he paused, pretending to reconsider, before poking his tongue out at her. "Or at least not until after you're un-pregnant again."

"Harry, if you don't tell me you love me a million times while I'm pushing your children out into this world I will run to the Daily Mail so fast you won't even know what to do with yourself. The entire world will hate you."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, sweetheart. I'll do whatever you want. Just promise me you'll keep laughing, at least through Christmas."

"Whatever I want?"

"Yeah. Anything, Hell. Anything."

"Well then, get up here and kiss me, you fool."

"Okay, one second though. First, I want to take a picture."

"Of what?"

"The outline of your bump. You should see, Hell. It's all back-lit with the lights on the tree and it's... It's beautiful."

With a quick snap, and an even quicker filter selection -- black and white, of course -- he scrambled to his feet, holding his phone out for her inspection.

"'Bumpy and bright,' Harry?"

"Like 'merry and bright', only--"

"Oh, I get it, love. I'm must saying..." she trailed off, very nearly laughing. "God. You are so weird."

"Guilty as charged, darling," he smiled, pressing submit and leaning in to drop a gentle kiss in the sweet spot just below her ear before sliding around to brush his lips against hers. "And you love me anyway."

"I'd better," she chuckled, "Our kids have a, like, 50% chance of turning out just like you. I could be stuck with more than one of you for literally forever."

"Not seeing any downsides, here," he mused, sweeping back in for another kiss.

"Course you aren't, Styles, of course you aren't."

"Can I take you to bed now, Hell?"

"Only if you bring my hot chocolate up with you."

"Now  _that_  is some holiday cheer I could get into."

"If you think you're being kinky or clever right now, Haz, I'm going to have to let you know that you've--"

"Shuttup, Hell. I'll switch off the music and bring up the cocoa. So we can  _drink it_  in bed and go straight to sleep and rot our teeth out of our faces and..."

"Weirdo," she fired back at him.

"You love me!"

Hellie didn't look back, just giggled and shook her head and slowly, slowly, slowly climbed the stairs up to the bedroom. He watched as she rose -- fairy-lights draped along the banister casting a gentle glow on her skin, curtain of redredred hair swinging behind her -- and thought that it had been years since he'd felt so at home over the holidays. Here, in Manhattan, with his hormonal girlfriend, laughing one minute and weeping the next. In this tiny apartment, thousands of miles away from the place he'd grown up, and the family he'd always loved. This was where he was meant to be.

  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second Christmas! Which, in Harry and Hellie's fictional timeline, just so happens to coincide with our timeline here in reality. Christmas 2014, and Hellie is just about to pop. (She pops on January 9th, in case you were wondering/that wasn't entirely clear in TTR.)
> 
> So much more where this is coming from. I was working on the fifth Christmas today, actually. Between shopping for gifts for my loved ones and going to spin class and trying to work up the energy to decorate the tree my roommate and I bought last night. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. More soon (like, in a day or two).
> 
> Happy Sunday.
> 
> xxloose


	3. Third Christmas (2015)

* * *

 

From the kitchen he could hear fussing, and for half a second -- when he realized he couldn't tell if it was his daughter or Hellie's niece Clara working up to a full-on strop -- he felt like a horrible parent. A moment later, though, as he heard her sister-in-law Colleen soothing the child, he managed to tamp down on the guilt, swallowing it away with a mouthful of Dubonet. He was a good enough parent to show up for his children's first Christmas, even though every time he looked at their mother it felt like she was reaching into his chest and twisting all of his insides into knots around shards of glass, so. He didn't know what else there was that he could do.

So while his ex's brother and sister-in-law dropped their things in the spare room, and everyone began to settle in, waiting for her parents to arrive, he was in the kitchen, his eleven-and-a-half-month-old son strapped to his chest in a carrier and sleeping soundly -- the only way he appeared to be willing or capable of napping, today -- as he prepped his mother's famous gingerbread recipe. Because whether or not his children would be allowed to eat it, there was absolutely no way he could allow their first Christmas to pass without his mum's famous gingerbread being a part of it.

And sure. There was a bonus to baking-- all the measuring and mixing and rolling and cutting would keep him busy. Away from heartbreak and arguments, hands theoretically too occupied to allow him to overdo it with the booze too soon.

Colleen floated into the kitchen a few moments later, whispering into Clara's hair as she deposited what appeared to be a container of cookies and a small mountain of snacks for Clara on the counter near the refrigerator. As Colleen attempted to pass behind him again, Clara squirmed in her arms, calmer now, but insistent about being set down at just that very moment. At the sound, Ollie stirred against his chest.

"Hey there, how's my Ollie monster?" Colleen asked over his shoulder, running a delicate knuckle up her nephew's chin.

"Just waking up from a nap," he offered, startled for a moment when Colleen pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek as he turned to face her.

"Hey Harry," she smiled. "Merry Christmas. What're you making?"

"My mum's famous gingerbread," he replied softly, shaking his head to clear the shock of her open kindness.

"Sounds delicious. Chris didn't mention-- is anyone from your family going to join us this year?"

"Nope," he popped the 'p' in an attempt to sound nonchalant. "Just me."

"Good thing we'll have your Mom's gingerbread, then," she smiled, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. "I should go see what kind of trouble Clara's getting herself into, but... I'm glad you're here, Harry."

It was small. This thing. This... knowing that at least Colleen was happy to see him. But it was something. An anchor, when he'd spent the entire morning feeling dreadfully adrift in a home -- and with a family -- that was once supposed to be his. Leaning down to press a soft kiss to his smiling, gurgling son's forehead, he knew he was where he was meant to be. Where he belonged. No matter how much it threatened to hurt. This was where he belonged.

"Happy Christmas, Ollie," he murmured, pressing another kiss to his temple, "Think you're ready to help make Nan's famous gingerbread? It's a Styles tradition."

Ollie made a wet, happy sounding noise and rubbed his tiny, drool-y face against his gazillion dollar t-shirt and that, well, that was enough.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, simple, sweet, maybe a tiny bit sad.
> 
> More soon.
> 
> All the love.
> 
> xxloose


	4. Fourth Christmas (2018)

* * *

 

Adjusting the rearview mirror for just a second, he snuck another glance at the twins in their carseats and thought, not for the first time, about how much could change in a year. He could scarcely even believe they were there. In fact, as they slept silently behind him, it was sort of easy to forget, to slip back into years past when they weren't-- for a small, sad wave to threaten to crash inside him before he even remembered, and had to glance back and check just once more to be sure.

Even weeks shy of their fourth birthday, the twins still fell asleep basically the moment you put them in a moving vehicle. Only this year, that moving vehicle was slicing through the winter-white roads of Cheshire, moving ever closer to the home where he grew up, far from the holiday places his children had known. This year, they were making new traditions all over again.

Like Boxing Day in Holmes Chapel, with his parents and sister, Hellie hours away, keeping herself busy god only knows how. He'd invited her, of course. It was her first Christmas away from New York and the idea of leaving her behind -- especially given the fact that she'd moved here for him -- had seemed completely horrid. But Hellie would hear nothing of it. She insisted she had several bottles of wine and several girlfriends to visit and she was planning on drinking a day away without any children at all. In fact, she swore this day would be a gift. Her Christmas gift. He wasn't sure he bought it, wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't be curled up in bed alone drinking Prosecco straight from the bottle, crying and watching sad movies. But it was a battle he didn't think was worth fighting. And wasn't that... wasn't that what parenting was all about? Choosing your battles. Didn't everyone say that? This year felt like... like the first time he was truly learning what parenting was meant to be. And maybe that was Hellie's gift to him.

So the kids had slept at his house last night. And this morning, at arse-o'clock, he'd bundled them up in all the layers he could possibly manage and piled them into the Range Rover-- loosening the straps on their carseats to fit their puffy little bodies in. With the heat cranked to continue to ward off the cold, he hummed Christmas tunes as he pulled away from the house, waiting for the road to lull his babies back to sleep. His babies who were children, now, more than ever.

"Harry!" Gemma exclaimed, running at him as he climbed out of the truck and into his parents' drive.

"Shhh!" he admonished, swinging her up in his arms anyway.

"Oh stop it, H. It's 10am, I want to see my niece and nephew awake and shouting and eating too many cookies right this second!"

"Right, well then, I'll just let you manage them while they wake, shall I?"

"Piss off, I'm excellent with children."

"Dunno how many times you've woken sleeping toddlers, though. I do look forward to this."

Shoving him out of the way, Gemma made for the door behind which Ollie's carseat was located. He stifled a chuckle. Ollie would be the worst possible child to wake unceremoniously. He almost looked forward to the moment. Or he would do, if he didn't know Gemma would panic and leave him with a fussing son in the absolute blink of an eye. Still. Even at the ripe-old age of very nearly twenty-five, he did so love to prove his big sister wrong.

Ollie was awake and cranky before Gemma even got the car door open. He buried a smug grin in his mum's hair as he hugged her tightly and she whispered love and Happy Christmas wishes into his hair. Moving on to hug Robin he let his mum flit around the car to retrieve Cass, who he could hear beginning to fuss, too. It shouldn't feel this good to be right about his children being upset, but again. Being the younger sibling had a way of lingering in your relationships. Turning to watch his mum and sister wrestle his children out of the car, he spared a moment to wonder what it would be like for them someday, being the same age. Would their relationships be anything like his with Gemma? Or Hellie's with Chris?

"Harry!" his mum exclaimed, placing a whinge-y, kicking Cass down on the ground beside her. "How much clothing have you put on these children? They're dripping!"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Cass is dripping with sweat," his mum clarified.

"Yeah, Haz, look at Ollie, he is too. His hair is plastered to his head," Gemma added, pulling back the hood of Ollie's snowsuit and yanking off his woolen, earflap hat.

"Hey, put that back on, it's freezing out here! D'you want him to catch cold?"

"Oh, baby, that's not..." his mum muffled a chuckle and a smile behind her hand. "They're in and out of the heated car in seconds. They're not about to go skiing, sweetheart, they didn't need..."

He pouts, looking between Gemma's triumphant face -- she can piss off, she was still wrong about Ollie waking happy -- and his mother's poorly concealed grin. Sue him for worrying about his children's wellbeing. Sue him for being left alone with them like this, for a trip like this, for the very first time. Sue him for not knowing.

"Harry, sweetheart, you meant well. They're just... Okay, let's get everyone inside. There's easily six changes of clothes in those bags you packed, I'm sure. After everyone's settled we'll have breakfast and then see what Santa left here, shall we?"

"SANTA!" Cass and Ollie cry in unison, suddenly quite awake and alert. And. Okay. Totally sweaty. And only marginally capable of walking. Like. Mostly they're waddling toward the front door.

Watching his kids attempt to race toward the front door of the house he'd grown up in, he felt immeasurable fondness swell in his chest. He'd missed being here at the holidays. And it was his fault, entirely. He knew that. Just like it was his fault he didn't know how to dress his own children properly for a trip like this. His fault they'd seen this house in pictures more than in real life.

But it was going to be okay. Because this year, they were here. All of them. And this year, he'd learn how to get winter-wear right without Hellie's help, without his mum's advice. By next Christmas, they wouldn't be waddling to the door, all the adults -- himself included -- giggling behind their very cute backs. But first, there was tea, and eggy bread, and mountains of gifts that his children absolutely did not need.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, everyone!
> 
> I've had a completely hellacious week and I am so glad it's over and I can like... nap and go to spin class and get a massage and try to unwind and not stress about the fact that I'm still not done with my Christmas shopping and we've got less than a week left until the big day.
> 
> So I'm sharing this, because it makes me happy, and I'm working on the sixth installment, and I'm going to have an adult beverage and light a candle and enjoy the heck out of a (much needed) quiet Friday night in. I hope wherever you are and whatever you're doing, it's lovely.
> 
> xxloose


	5. Fifth Christmas (2024)

 

 

Hellie was having a completely shit day. He hadn't even seen her, had only even heard two words slip out of her mouth across a phone line, and already he knew. "Harry, hey," she'd said, with an air of utter panic and rage that she was very carefully concealing on every breath. If he hadn't known her so well, in such intimate ways, for so long, he wouldn't have caught it. But then. He wouldn't have needed to catch it, really. Because it was at that precise moment -- before he could even say 'What's up?' -- that she snapped, asking him to hold for a moment before pulling the phone away from her face. He could tell, because her shouting sounded sort of far away when it began.

"FUCK me. I swear to god, I will fucking END these people. LEIGH! _Someone_! Get in here. Take my laptop away before I toss it clear through this fucking window onto St. John's Lane and kill an innocent bystander. I'm too pretty for prison."

He heard her door open, some shuffling, and the close of the same door before a thunking sound he was relatively certain was produced by Hellie's head hitting her desk.

"Harry," she whined.

"Hey, Hell. Having a good day?"

"Ha-fucking-ha, Styles. I called you for a save. Please don't make my day worse."

"Just teasing, sweetheart-- What can I do?"

"I have a client melting down and we need to put together a deck for an emergency presentation tomorrow, so I'm going to be stuck here real late. Which wouldn't normally be a huge issue, only the kids' after-school program thing got canceled for today and the sitter's having some sort of family emergency and the service can't get me anyone on this short notice, so--"

"You need me to pick the kids up and hang out with them till you get home?" he asked, trying not to laugh at the state of her. "Breathe, Hell. I've got it."

"Actually, I got them a ride home with one of Cass' friends before I knew the sitter couldn't come, so you'll just need to meet them at the house."

"I can do that."

"I honestly can't even remember what I defrosted for dinner, but--"

"Hellie, get back to work. I'll sort it. Call me when you're on your way home."

He met the kids at the door, which was actually a pretty bad-ass ego boost, because they were crazy excited to see him in a way they hadn't been since they were... well. It had been a longer time than he cared to recall precisely. And once they'd had a bit of a snack he sent them off to change out of their uniforms and get started on their assignments while he rooted about in the kitchen to assess their options for dinner. Hellie actually hadn't left anything out to defrost -- par for the course on her day, really -- but there was enough in the fridge and cupboards to throw together some kind of pasta with Hellie's weird fake sausage and vegetables, so the takeaway menus could stay in their drawer.

It wasn't until he was dicing an onion that he realized the house was... bizarrely quiet. Cass' room was directly above the kitchen and he couldn't hear her stomping about as she changed. Ollie's room was a full floor higher than Cass' but he was the second loudest person alive (after his mum of course) so if he was silent, well...no good could come of that.

"Cass? Ollie?" he called up the stairs. No answer.  "Where are you two?"

At first, he heard nothing but more silence, which continued to be worrisome. But then there was a poorly muffled thump, and some hushed arguing coming from the general direction of Hellie and Cass's bedrooms. Time to go investigate what on earth was going on. Those noises could not be good.

He'd just checked Cass' room (empty) and begun to climb the stairs to Hellie's room when Cass appeared in the door, where she froze. Ollie barreled into her back, hissing at her before looking up to see his father over her shoulder.

"What are you two doing in your mum's room, hmm?"

"Nothing," Cass insisted quickly and smoothly. Too bad she was not as good of a liar -- or politician -- as she seemed to think.

"Right, yeah, nothing strange about this here," he replied, gesturing at the two of them, hovering nervously in the doorway.

"I dropped my football down the stairs and Cass heard me in here trying to fetch it."

"I seriously cannot even list all the reasons I know there's no way that's possible," he said, pushing past the twins into the room, "But for a laugh, let's start with the fact that your mum keeps her door closed. No football is rolling into that room randomly. Should I bother continuing with the fact that you don't have a football in your hands, nor is there one in anywhere in the general vicinity of your person?"

"Ollie!" Cass hissed. Okay. She was a better liar than her brother, who was mostly just bold.

"Why is the carpet rucked up over here?" he asked the room, knowing he'd get no answer, but putting it out there anyway as he lifted the skirt to peek under the bed near the scene of the crime.

His heart plummeted at the sight of a pile of wrapped Christmas gifts he saw there. He recognized them. He'd helped wrap at least half of them, carefully faking neat handwriting on all the labels 'from Santa.'

"Tell me what you were doing in here, both of you, now," he demanded, looking up, his stomach full of his heart, which had become a lead weight. This was not happening. "I'm not messing about, you two. Tell me the truth right now, or you are in for a world of hurt."

"Nothing, Dad," Ollie tried once more, but Cass knew the game was up. "We found the gifts," she offered glumly.

"How-- who-- wha--" he spluttered out, finally setting on a "How?!"

"We know, Dad. We know Santa's not real. That you and mum buy the gifts and wrap them up and sneak them under the tree, and, and, we know," Cass rambled to a halt, eyes welling with tears.

"Ben told me the truth ages ago, Dad," Ollie answered, finally giving in.

Ben. The Willoughby kid. He was going to throttle that child the next time he saw him. Or at least give him a very stern talking-to. It was probably inappropriate to choke other people's children. But honestly, seriously, why did that brat have to ruin all the fun and hope and belief for his beautiful babies? 

Sure. It had to come to an end some time. He and Hellie both knew that. Had talked about it sadly at the kitchen table in the middle of the night as they wrapped gifts in relative silence. But god.  _God_. Couldn't they have had one more Christmas? And why did this have to happen today of all days? When he was alone with the kids and clueless about what to do and Hellie was having a horrid day already. He couldn't bear to tell her. Especially not tonight.

"Listen to me, you two. We're going to have to have an actual conversation about this. Particularly the part where you were rummaging about in your mum's bedroom without anyone's permission, which is just... an invasion of privacy and--" he cut himself off and took a deep breath, swallowing his panic. "But that's... later. That's for later. Right now, at this moment, I need you to  _promise me_  you will not utter a single word about this to your mum. Not one single word. It will actually break her heart."

"She's going to find out someday," Ollie put in cheekily, as if he weren't in some serious trouble at that very moment.

"Yeah, well, it won't be today. Your mum is having a shit enough day without  _this_  on top of everything else."

"What's the big deal, dad, seriously?" Ollie asked, arms crossed over his chest. Cass still had the good sense to look contrite, at least. "Ben said he's known for ages. That it's pretty thick of us to still believe, and--"

"Oliver James," he warned, tired and upset and somewhat overwhelmed, and frankly, feeling the tiniest bit ready to cry. 

He wanted to talk to Hellie about this. Wanted to proceed with her blessing, or input, or something. Maybe just her steady hand at his back. But he couldn't let her know about this, not just yet. And so. He'd have to do this alone. 

"Listen to me, both of you. There is nothing wrong with believing in Santa Claus. In fact, there's something pretty brilliant about it, if you ask me. Because he stands for some pretty wonderful things, like hope and faith and love and generosity. So don't let this Willoughby kid -- or anyone -- tell you otherwise. It gets-- I know that it..." he sighed scraping a hand through his hair and closing his eyes for a moment as he attempted to gather his next thought. "Believing in things, things that make you feel happy and loved-- there's nothing wrong with that. It gets harder, as you get older, to believe. To have faith. I know. But it's also what gets you through your days, especially the bad ones-- believing in things, in people, in love, in happiness. We all have hope, it's what makes us human. But belief is harder to come by, and if, if you have it, and if it's not hurting anyone, you should never be ashamed of it."

Cass lunged at him, burying her face in his ribs and wrapping her arms around him as tight as she could. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he wrapped one arm around her and rested the other hand on top of her head. Ollie looked on for a moment, torn between keeping it together, all stoic and slightly defiant, and throwing himself into the family embrace.

"Oliver," he nudged, "Get over here."

And that was all it took. Ollie was under his free arm in the blink of an eye, one arm around him and the other around his sister.

"I love you two, yeah?" he said, voice tight with emotion as he squeezed them tighter, dropped kisses to the tops of their heads.

He'd seen a lot of things end in his life. And he knew that endings weren't always beginnings. Not the way you wanted them to be, necessarily. He knew this ending, this phase drawing to it's close, was a sad one. He'd miss this for his children, and he knew they'd miss it too. 

But that wasn't what made the moment so difficult to swallow. Nor was it the knowledge that he'd have to tell Hellie about this eventually. That he'd have to watch her lose something here, too. 

No. It was watching his children see something end that made this so hard to swallow, brought tears to his eyes. He'd never had to do that before, and it hit harder than he'd ever expected, like a blow to the sternum that he had to stand through, pretend his breathing hadn't been changed. Even when it had. Even when everything had changed forever.

"Love you too, Daddy," Cass murmured into his jumper. Ollie chimed in with something, too. Something indecipherable, lost in Cass' hair, that sounded affirmative and affectionate. It would do.

"Good. Now promise me,  _promise me_ , that you will not tell your mother about this, okay?" he asked squeezing them tightly once more before letting them go.

"Ugh, fine, Dad. Whatever," Ollie replied, swinging straight back into vaguely disgruntled and too grown up for his age.

"We won't, Daddy. Promise," Cass added, elbowing Ollie and then making for the door, warm fuzzy family moment fully over. Ollie followed.

"And if I ever catch you in here snooping again, I will-- Well. I don't know, but you won't like it!" he called after them, trying not to laugh at himself as they disappeared. "And schoolwork will be done at the dining table today, you two-- where I can see the whites of your eyes, so you better be down in five minutes or less!"

And just like that, it was a regular day again. Everything was different, but nothing had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> But
> 
> <3
> 
> That's how I feel about this chapter.
> 
> I need to go pack for my trip home tomorrow night. And try to catch these 1D fools on Jimmy Fallon, too, if I can. So I'm off. But. I've finished drafts of the last two scenes, so they will go up tomorrow, and the next day. And then. Then there's the Christmas surprise.
> 
> Love love love.
> 
> xxloose


	6. Sixth Christmas (2028)

* * *

 

He'd never done this before. This playing second fiddle, being the supportive partner and not the one in the spotlight thing, and it was kind of bizarre. It was also kind of glorious for about sixty-seven reasons, chief among them the fact that he had basically zero responsibilities, so there was almost nothing he could screw up.

Well, okay, he had one responsibility. That was making sure that none of Hellie's colleagues caught onto the fact that she wasn't drinking. This mostly involved being sure that her glass was always topped up with the sparkling non-alcoholic cider he'd bribed the bartender to hide for them, that way no one ever felt tempted to bring her a drink on their own.

Secondary gigs otherwise included being kind and charming and following Hellie's lead, even when conversation strayed into territories like work, where everyone might as well have been speaking gibberish to him. But seriously. This was so much better than any kind of work event he'd ever gone to himself. And like, maybe it wasn't for Hellie. Maybe right now Hellie felt like he did at that film premiere after-party thing a few weeks ago, when he'd had to be just on fire the whole time.

But tonight was like... the best. Great food and booze -- free, and served to him, with no washing up waiting after the meal was done -- and fascinating company, with no one fawning over him too much, because they knew their boss(es) were watching. Plus, Hellie. His beautiful, beautiful fiance, who he couldn't keep his eyes off of. He got to watch her be... the other Hellie. The one he almost never saw. Professional Hellie. She was a sight to behold. It was unbelievably hot to see her in a place where she wielded so much power. 

It was nearly midnight when, on a mission to snag Hellie a refill on her cider, he'd gotten pulled aside into a chat with her boss' wife. (Something about how happy they were to have Hellie back, and how worried they'd all been after the accident.) And even if it hadn't toed the edges of some of the deepest wells of sorrow in his entire being, he would have struggled with that particular conversation, because from where he stood there was a perfectly clear view of Hellie, spotlit across the room as she gesticulated wildly through a conversation with her team. Focusing on anyone or anything else was damn near impossible.

"She's beautiful," her boss' wife mused, glancing over her shoulder at Hellie but clearly still speaking to him.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head to clear the haze. "Oh, yeah. Yes, sorry. She's. The most beautiful woman I've ever known."

"I'll let you get back to her," she offered. "And congratulations, by the way. If we don't chat again tonight, I'll see you at the wedding next month."

"Yes, indeed," he replied, only slightly distracted by the way Hellie had just caught his eye, "And thank you, really."

With a smile and a gentle squeeze to her elbow he excused himself completely, slipping past to make his way toward Hellie and cocking his head and smiling at her when he caught her eye again. At that Hellie excused herself from her conversation and sauntered toward him.

"Making nice with the spouses, love?" she teased, biting her lip as she slipped into his space.

"Of course, Hell. I am an  _excellent_  WAG," he replied, sliding his palm across her lower back and pulling her flush against him. "Got you some more bubbly, too."

"I know, I just bolted from that convo when someone offered me a glass. Told em you had my refill and ran."

"Think they've sorted it yet?" he asked, chuckling and shaking his head.

"At least half of the women have, yes."

"Should we just...?"

"No!" she squeaked. "No, sorry. It's just. It's still so early, love. And no one will say anything until we do. Trust me. They'll all suspect, but we're... we should be protected this way."

"Whatever you want, darling."

Hellie sighed and smiled wistfully, pressing both her palms to his chest. He rubbed circles on her lower-back with the heel of his hand, leaning over to place the two champagne glasses in his other hand down on a nearby table.

"I can't believe we're doing this again," she mused quietly as he brought his newly empty hand up to rest in the curve of her neck.

"It's funny. I know we've done this before. But it's so different to how it was last time, I feel like... It almost feels like the first time."

"I know what you mean."

"And it's not just the bay-- the you know what. It's like... I've known you for 15 years. We've been in some sort of relationship for that long. And this is the first time I've ever been to a work event with you." Hellie opened her mouth to protest. "No, I mean like, a work event for you. Not for me. I've never just been a WAG. I kind of like it."

"Really?" she asked, attempting to quirk an eye-brow.

"Yeah. I dunno," he shrugged, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a gentle arc just below her ear, "I like... I like watching you be you. Just getting to see you hold a room in the palm of your hand. I never get to do that, really. Not in a place where you're so... Where your power comes from you, completely. Not from being connected to me, you know? God, that sounds fucked up, I'm sorry, I--"

Hellie cut him off by surging up into a hug, pressing her words into the shell of his ear, "I know what you mean, love."

"Doesn't mean it's not fucked up. You've always been so..." He sighed. "You've always had your shit together. And I've never really gotten to see it in action, and I feel like maybe I've wasted a lot of time, and."

"Harry, love, I'm going to need you to stop this," Hellie said, pulling back in his embrace and smiling just the tiniest bit, like she was holding onto a secret. He frowned, what he'd been about to say had felt important, and-- "Because I just realized we are under the mistletoe right now, and every second we spend not kissing is a second tragically wasted."

Okay fine, that was. Ugh. True. He huffed a tiny laugh, leaning his lips toward hers, before pausing only millimeters away. 

"It's entirely possible you've never said anything so true in your entire--" 

Hellie cut him off with a hard, closed mouth kiss, before softening into a laugh and opening her lips to him. He pressed in a bit, taking her lower lip between his and biting into it gently. Hellie hummed into his mouth, tilting her head to take just a tiny bit more from him, when they were interrupted by several catcalls and a wolf-whistle.

"Leigh, I will end your soul," she called out, just at the edge of a growl, without even turning to look.

"We should stop," he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Actually, I think we should do the opposite of stopping."

"Oh really?"

"Really. We should just... take it elsewhere, first."

"You done?"

"With this party? Yes. But I'm only just getting started with you."

"Oh, man, this is going to be the best Christmas ever," he laughed. "I'll get our coats."

"Love you," she murmured, kissing his cheek before he left.

"Love you, too, Hell," he replied, trailing his fingers down her arm and pulling at her hand until he was too far to keep the contact.

"Call the car, I'll meet you out front."

He obliged without even looking back. He'd never been much for taking orders from anyone before. But tonight. Tonight, he could get into it. Sure. For Hellie he could probably get into anything. But this was... a whole new chapter. A whole 'nother level. And all told, it wasn't a bad place to be, fifteen years in. Talk about Christmas spirit.

  
*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve Eve!
> 
> I just got drunk and watched the 1D special on NBC with my parents (becase I am already home for the holidays) and it was a hell of an experience. My dad really thinks I should be over the boyband thing by now. My mom remembers what it was like when girls screamed for The Beatles the way they do for 1D these days. Everyone thinks Harry Styles is a lot like Peter Noone from Herman's Hermits.
> 
> Anyway. Here's your Christmas Eve Eve treat. An update! More tomorrow. Both the final Christmas in the series, and my little holiday 'surprise' news.
> 
> Love you all.
> 
> xxloose


	7. Seventh Christmas (2029)

 

* * *

 

By the time he returned to the sitting room -- Elouise curled up against his shoulder and hiccuping just slightly as she recovered from a mild tantrum -- the tree was basically done and Hellie was gesturing for Ollie to open the last box. The room itself was a complete disaster. It appeared there had been an explosion of tinsel and ribbon, and several partially broken strings of lights had been tossed haphazardly about. Plus, after an incident wherein Cass had dropped an entire container of fluttery fake glitter snow stuff about 20 minutes into the decorating process, well, it was for sure going to take longer to tidy up than it had taken to decorate. But he kind of didn't give a fuck even in the slightest. Because Cass had gone a full two hours without getting stroppy, Ollie still hadn't figured out that Hellie had buried his phone in the junk drawer in the kitchen, and now that Elouise was awake from her nap, he had his whole family in a good mood, in the same room, at the same time. Talk about Christmas miracles.

As he watched, he narrated the events for Elouise. Cass was placing the hooks across the mantle and making sure they were perfectly evenly spaced, because god forbid something be slightly out of order. (Ollie would mess them all up later, just to drive her crazy.) And Ollie passed Cass her stocking so she could do the honors first, then followed behind with his own, leaving two spaces to the left for the parents and one to the right for El. Hellie put both of their stockings up, before turning to find El's stocking and catching sight of them in the doorway.

"Hey, tadpole," she murmured, crossing the room to slot in by his side and lean over his chest to drop a gentle kiss on Elouise's cheek. "Did you have a good nap? Did Daddy check your nappy? Yeah? He did?" she asked, smiling and slipping a hand into the back pocket of his jeans as El gurgled and kicked a bit. "D'you want him to help you put your stocking up, El? D'you want Daddy to help with that?"

"What do you think, El, can I help you out this year?" he asked, squeezing Hellie to his side as she tickled under Elouise's chin and received more delighted gurgles and giggles and kicking in response. "Alright then, let's go, tadpole."

Before he could untangle his arm from around Hellie to take the stocking she was holding out to them, Elouise snatched it up in her tiny little fists, immediately stuffing the fabric in her mouth.

"Does that taste nice, tadpole?" he asked, feeling Hellie squeeze his bum and give him a push toward the fireplace. "I bet it doesn't. We have one other problem, too, El. And it's kind of a big one: Daddy can't hang your stocking for you if you don't let it go. Can you let go, sweetheart?"

It took only a few moments of wrestling to get the stocking from Elouise's fierce grasp once they reached the mantle. As he reached out to slip it onto the hook designated for his youngest child's stocking, he heard Hellie's camera shutter clicking and Ollie and Cass squabbling over something inane and Hanson -- always Hanson -- playing quietly in the background and for just a second he was stunned into complete stillness. He was lucky beyond all belief to have this. It was so horribly trite and so unequivocally true.

"That's my good girl," he whispered into the downy brown fluff atop Elouise's head, closing his eyes for just a moment as he pressed a kiss there behind his words. "Daddy loves you so, so much."

  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you have it: the final Christmas. Happy Christmas Eve, dear reader.
> 
> And here's my little 'gift' for anyone who cares, just a day early-- This story, "What Christmas Means to Me," is meant to serve as a preview for the new piece I'm working on. It's a companion to "Things to Ruin" called "In Seven" which will tell -- in groups of seven scenes -- Hellie's story as she fell in love with Harry in 2013/14, and again, in 2027/28.
> 
> I hope you have a gorgeous holiday. And that the very most you wish for is the very least you receive.
> 
> Thanks for spending any portion of 2014 with me and my characters. It's an insanely lovely gift you've given me.
> 
> xxloose


End file.
